


(these flowers) can't help me make amends

by DeadAllan



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AC:III spoilers, Angst, F/M, Gen, along with some novelization spoilers, dealing with Lucy's death, this kind of hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadAllan/pseuds/DeadAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I fucked up, Lucy. Everything is just so wrong and it’s all because I fucked up and I have no idea how to fix it. It’s the end of the world down here and…and I need you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	(these flowers) can't help me make amends

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I was unhappy with how little Lucy's death was addressed in the games, so I wrote this. The title comes from the song "Lucy" by Skillet. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so every single mistake is due to my own laziness.

**(these flowers) can’t help me make amends**

When Desmond ventures out of the cave for the first time he finds it’s raining. Of course it’s raining. It’s mid-December in upstate New York, what else would it be doing? It’s chilly and the wind stings his face. He feels like shit, feels worse than shit, whatever the word for that is. It’s not because he’s soaked to the bone or even because he feels sore for spending so much time in the animus. No, it’s not quite that physical. It isn’t like most of his other problems; something that he can wash away with a hot shower and some aspirin.

No one has asked him about what happened in Rome. He’s not sure if it’s because they don’t want to know or if they’re afraid of how he might react. Either way, he’s glad. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’d probably feel better, he realizes, but recently it’s been difficult for him to express emotions other than exasperation and anger. He tells himself that it’s just a mourning period; that it’ll pass.

He remembers her face, the look in her eyes when he felt her blood stain his hand. So wide, so blue, so confused, so…so full of fear. Her lips quivered as the ugly choking sounds escaped between them. He thinks his soul actually shattered that day. He’s nothing more than a shell and now she’s gone, her life ripped out through her stomach, left to die so far from home, if she ever had such a thing. He doesn’t know. They never talked about their personal lives. Now he wishes they did. 

Rain turns to snow and he lets out a heavy breath. He should go back inside, lie down and rest his head or something. It’s not safe on the surface. Abstergo has eyes everywhere. He shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and looks up at the dark gray sky. A bird--a hawk or crow-- flies overhead and he wonders what it would be like to shirk all of these goddamn responsibilities and fly away, to escape to the mountains somewhere at the ends of the earth. Away from the Assassin’s, away from the Templars, away from everything. 

“What are you doing out here Desmond?” Rebecca asks from behind. He makes no move to acknowledge her presence as he hears her heavy footsteps come beside him. She places a hand on his shoulder and he flinches away. She sighs and crosses her arms, following Desmond’s gaze, looking to the sky. Snow lands on their faces, sticks to their clothes. It’s not cold; at least, it doesn’t feel cold. Maybe there’s heat coming from the cave or maybe they’re just too numb to feel anything; cold, warmth, happiness, sorrow. They stand in silence, not uncomfortable in each other’s company. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Rebecca says after a while. His eyes flicker, just for a second, and they darken. He says nothing. “You feel guilty, I get it, but you weren’t in control of your actions. It was that thing…Juno. I know it, Shaun knows it, and I’m sure she knows it too. What did that to her, it…it wasn’t you.” She looks at him, smiling sympathetically. His jaw clenches and he lets out a shaky breath. His brows arch downwards but his eyes remain blank. 

“How can you be so sure?” he says, hardly audible over the rustling of bushes and trees. Because how can she be? She isn’t the one who touched the Apple. She isn’t the one who has deities or whatever the hell they are talking to her. It’s not her job to save the fucking world. She didn’t lose the only person who made all of this bearable. She didn’t kill the only person who made all of this shit seem like it’s worth something. 

“Because we know, and more importantly, she knows that you would never to anything to hurt her.” 

Desmond blinks and slowly turns to face her. His mouth hangs open slightly, looking like he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. The corners of Rebecca’s mouth tilt upwards in a knowing smile. “She cares a lot about you, you know? Back in Monteriggioni, hell, even in the warehouse she got really nervous whenever Ezio got into a hairy situation. It affected your vitals and she always wanted to pull you out, make sure you’re still okay…Always looking out for you. That’s kind of how she is.”

“Could you…stop with the present tense? I mean…she’s not…” He doesn’t finish his thought, choosing instead to kick a rock into the trees. 

“Not here?” Rebecca finishes. “Listen, you’re not the only one suffering, Des. Her death is taking a toll on all of us.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t murder her!” he shouts. Birds fly from their perches in a rush and he hears those last two words echo in the cave and in the distance. He’s so fucking angry. And he feels a little bad because Rebecca was only trying to help him feel better, and no matter how pissed off he is, he has no right to yell at her like that. He almost apologizes but the look on her face makes him stop. It’s cold, stony and void of everything that makes Rebecca, Rebecca. 

“Listen to me you idiot,” she says slowly. “You did not kill Lucy Stillman, okay? It was that alien, goddess, shark, whatever the fuck she is. She used the Apple or something to force you to do something that everything in your body screamed was wrong. And don’t tell me that you didn’t fucking fight back because I know you fucking did. Now, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be grieving. Hell, I’d be proud if you curled up on your side and turned into a blubbering mess. What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t hold yourself accountable for what happened. We don’t, and you sure as hell know that if she could, she would tell you that she doesn’t either. So come back down and get some fucking rest.”

Desmond watches as she turns on her heel and makes her way back inside. Shifting his weight, he starts to follow. He stops and looks at the sky one last time. A bird sits in one of the trees, staring at him, its head cocked to the side with curiosity. He squints, trying to get a better look and it screeches, stretching out its wings and flying away. He sighs and shuffles back into the cave muttering to himself.

\-----------------

He hates being ripped from the animus. Walking in the footsteps of Haytham and Connor keeps his mind occupied. He doesn’t have to worry about snapping at someone because the conversations have already happened, doesn’t have to think about something from his own past because, in a way, it hasn’t happened yet. When he’s in the animus, he’s exactly who he wants to be: anyone but himself. But as someone once said, all good things must end, and he’s dragged back to reality, back to 2012, back to the heavy feeling in his chest. 

He thinks briefly to a movie he once saw, that one with Leonardo DiCapio. What was it called again? Whatever, he feels like their mark, lost in a complicated series of dreams and all he wants to do is wake the fuck up. 

He contemplates not releasing his parachute in New York and it would have been so easy to let Cross kill him in São Paulo, but his goddamn fighting spirit doesn’t let him. He goes on because the entire fucking world needs him and as his father tells him, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, so stop whining and keep looking for the goddamn key. He hates his dad, but he also knows that he’s not wrong. 

And then his dad gets himself kidnapped. It was probably unavoidable, that’s always a danger on solo missions, and let’s face it, his dad isn’t as spry as he used to be. Rebecca pulls some strings and manages to arrange a flight to Italy in a military cargo plane. Desmond has learned not to question the legality of the things the Assassins or Templars do. All that matters is whether or not they get caught.

The trip is loud, bumpy, and uncomfortable but Desmond sleeps through most of it. He finds comfort in things other than silence or the dull hum that seems to resonate throughout the cave. Shaun is next to him, tapping furiously on his laptop. Is he really still working on the animus data entries? Or maybe he’s working on some sort of document describing the end of days in some faint hope that who or whatever comes after them finds and reads it. No, that’s just silly. Shaun is too practical for something like that. Desmond sighs and closes his eyes. 

\-----------------

They waste no time when they land in Rome. It’s go to Abstergo’s facility, get dad, and get the fuck out of there. There are a few hiccups, Cross being the biggest. The man is fast and difficult to catch, but Desmond takes care of him. He’s not sorry. 

Wielding the Apple is a rush of power. He feels invincible. To be able to make someone else kill another person and then make them kill themself must truly be what God feels like. Feeling the energy surge around him is intoxicating. It tingles and crackles against his skin, and when it’s released, the way the people fall to their knees is like they’re begging for mercy. And he hates it, and unfortunately, mercy doesn’t come for most of them.  
The best escapes are the ones where you can walk right out the front door.

“Alright, let’s get back to the airbase,” Desmond says when he and his dad meet up with Rebecca and Shaun. They pile into a van that Shaun had managed to obtain and they take off down the street, getting out of the area before the police arrive. 

They slow down when they’re a safe distance from Abstergo, but Desmond notices they’re going the wrong way. The airbase was north, yet they were heading southeast, out of Rome. “What the hell is going on?” he asks.

Rebecca turns around in her seat on the passenger side. “Shaun wants to show you something. 

\-----------------

Fifteen minutes later the roads go from paved to dirt and in another five minutes, they turn and park in a small cemetery. Shaun steps out of the van and nods his head, motioning for Desmond to follow. 

They sky has turned gray and he can feel the moisture in the air pressing against the back of his neck. Thunder rumbles faintly in the distance. It’s going to rain. They step through the mist, weaving their way through the gravestones. Shaun finally stops at one separated from the rest. Desmond looks at the name and his chest feels heavy. “Take as much time as you need,” Shaun whispers. “I’ll be back by the van.”

Desmond swallows around a lump in his throat and laughs shakily. “Hi Lucy,” he says. “Um…How’s it going? Heh…Sorry, I guess that’s kind of a stupid thing to ask considering….well, you know…” He bites his lip and looks around nervously. What is he supposed to say? What do people usually say? He looks back to see if Shaun is still there. He’s not. Desmond is alone. Just him, his thoughts, and Lucy. 

His eyes burn with tears. “We’re living in a cave in New York. We’re literally underground. It’s a lot more damp than the villa. Sometimes I wake up feeling all sticky, but I never know if it’s because of the humidity or if I was sweating in my sleep.”

He runs his hands over his face and smiles a little. “God, I must sound like a fucking idiot, huh? I’ve never been too good at talking about my feelings. At least, not without yelling. I don’t think I could yell at you even if I wanted. Not without feeling guilty as hell afterwards.”

The rain starts to fall, droplets breaking through the foliage of trees surrounding the graveyard and he once again falls silent. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice cracking. “I’m so, so fucking sorry. I didn’t…none of this was supposed to happen. I never meant to…dammit.” He falls to his knees and begins to cry, tears burning his eyes and cheeks, breath shallow and ragged. “I fucked up, Lucy. Everything is just so wrong and it’s all because I fucked up and I have no idea how to fix it. It’s the end of the world down here and…and I need you. Somehow you made all of this seem like it’s worth it. And why can’t I turn back a fucking clock, just to see you again. God, I would do anything to see you again…just once…just for a few second…Anything but this piss poor excuse for goodbye.”

He reaches out and presses his palm against the cold, wet stone, tracing the lines of her name with his fingers. That’s all that is on the tombstone; her name and her birth and death date. There’s no message saying that she was a daughter, a sister, a friend. No message saying who she was or what she was like as a person. The only message is three words that are painfully familiar, three words that he has heard far more often than any normal person should.  


He cries.

Longer, harder, and more than he has ever cried in his entire life. Because he knows that somewhere, Lucy can hear him, and he thinks that he can feel her crying too. And in the rain he feels like he’s drowning but he doesn’t want to die just yet. He just wants to drift, let go of his soul for a little bit and find her. Take her back home so he can hold her again and together they’d save the world because they work really well together, as a team.  


He sits there for lord knows how long. Whether or not it feels like time has slowed down or sped up doesn’t matter to him. It’s the stillness that matters, the quiet company and perhaps the growing feeling of resolution. He’s warm despite the pouring rain soaking through his jacket and he thinks absently that Lucy would try to get him to come inside because he’d catch a cold.

And that’s when he realizes that he isn’t sad anymore. That, yes, Lucy is gone, but he’s still here. He’s not the first Assassin to lose someone so close—Altair lost Malik, Maria, and his son, Ezio lost almost his entire family, Leonardo, Yusuf, Christina, and Connor lost everyone he’s ever loved—so, he’ll be damned if he’s going to be the last. 

Perhaps she forgave him, but maybe he already knew that she would and all he really needed was to forgive himself. Or maybe all he needed was to say goodbye, because he didn’t get the chance to the first time. But he feels better, and while guilt still lingers, it’s no longer the itch he feels underneath his skin at all hours of the day. 

He picks himself up off the ground and touches the gravestone one last time. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything.” And he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks back towards the van. There’s a world that needs saving out there and he found his strength to carry on, just as Lucy would have wanted him to.

_Requiescat in Pace_


End file.
